


Dances of reunion

by magicdoasyouwill



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, Professor Layton
Genre: Gen, There arent really any pairings exactly??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:18:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicdoasyouwill/pseuds/magicdoasyouwill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three short stories concerning a situation in which years after the events of unwound future, Flora is to be married. In the first she seeks The Professor's help for some last minute lessons, in the second Crow and The Black Ravens are faced with the problem of finding suitable attire, and in the third Clive attempts to attend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dances of reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to tumblr user N3wtgeiszler, for once again listening to the ideas I come up with at odd hours of the morning.

**i- Composure**

If she had really wanted too, Flora could've been England's finest ballerina, but a childhood of lost mothers with an adolescence of robots and solitude decided better of that fate for her. Certainly if Flora wanted to twirl with more grace than that of a new born giraffe she could, her dainty frame should have been more than willing to comply with her wishes. But instead of plies and pirouettes coming naturally to the young woman on tonight of all nights, she finds her bare feet in a tangle among themselves. Quietly brushing against the wooden floor of her bedroom chamber she pleads to the heavens above to strike her with the pure talent of dance. However, all these entities strike Flora with is a sudden skew in her balance, forcing her to retreat back to slumber, lest she wake the one it was all for. Peeling away the covers, Flora searches for a solution to this disappointing puzzle, finding solace in tomorrow's answer.

Rosa arrives promptly after her knock the following morning, teasing here and there about how their professor had yet again made a bed among the pages of a text book. Flora only smiles, slipping off her coat before following the elderly woman towards the still drowsy Professor. Flora deposits herself across from her old guardian, whom was currently occupied with the vital task of readjusting his hat.

The scream of a teapot ushers in his morning greeting, "So then, Flora dear, to what do I owe this... most pleasant wake up call?"

Fingers busying themselves with tapping against her purse, Flora waits a moment to reply. For this task she must choose the exact words to present to The Professor, must snatch the from the air as if they were fruit ripe for her picking. Rosa brings them their earl grey no second sooner than when she has succeeded in doing just so.

"Its about the reception."

Layton does not lift his cup to his lips for even a second, hes far too busy finding the quickest way to usher Rosa out while remaining polite instead. Flora is in fact baffled by her mentor's speed. But soon enough Rosa is gone, the door is shut, the table is set and it is just Flora and The Professor, tea in hand.

"Now then Flora, is something not to your liking? Did he not like the shade of table cloth I suggested--" Its odd, how the brightest puzzle solver and archaeologist this side of London, no England was rendered useless at the thought of something being wrong with Flora's most precious plan. He should've seen in a flash the answer to this, but Hershel Layton is still left asking, and Flora Reinhold doesn't yet possess all of his answers.

"No! No no, they're lovely Professor," the fidgeting has only increased, Flora has to restrain herself from rummaging through the pockets of her purse for an imaginary item to please her roaming fingers, "He doesn't mind them, thats not it."

Layton nods, still not having touched his tea, "Do you care to elaborate on the matter, then?"

A dry lump settles in Flora's throat, "You remember how I had first agreed to make it a party like no other?"

"Indeed, a grand shindig if I do say so myself."

She begins to bite away at her lip, "Well, I... did overlook the detail of traditions. He mentioned it a week ago, when I came back from the market after visiting, and oh I should have just gone straight back here." Flora sighs, "I.. thought I would be able to handle it.."

Layton tips his hat upwards, beady eyes growing concerned, "Handle what, Flora?"

The words she has gathered scatter as Flora blurts out (startling The Professor enough to nearly cause the loss of a fine china teacup), "The wedding dances."

Her face flushes from the sheer childishness of it all. A lone girl, trying her very best to make it to the dance recital, to frightened to admit how much the twirls and leaps confound her. A solitary teen, unable to comprehend swing dance and its flair no matter how much it got her toes a tapping. A coupled woman, scared half to death about admitting the knowledge of how to waltz eludes her.

Layton finally begins his tea. Of all the things to find comfort in, Flora finds it in this one action. "An easily remedied problem, fret not." Reaching for a biscuit, The Professor continues, "There's more than enough time to teach you all the necessary steps."

Flora beams, "Oh, would you really Professor?"

He too smiles, "But of course! Its a gentleman's duty to--"

"Help a lady in need," Flora finishes with a giggle.

* * *

 

 To ease any and all anxiety over lessons that he possibly could, The Professor lets Flora pick the first song she tries to dance to. He keeps in mind the correct tempo for beginner steps, dragging his mind away from the painful memories of his own first lesson. This was far more important than a sudden flash of nostalgia, this was for a wedding- for Flora's wedding. He'd already rescheduled five lectures around the event, refusing a very tempting mystery for the sole fact of his requested arrival date. Flora was past blossoming into a woman, he'd nearly missed it by attempting to shelter her from harm. This was the least he could do.

She picks the song her knew she would, the one they'd found on the radio the day she left St. Mystere. London had not yet come in sight, but its sounds had marched ahead to greet Flora with a lively tune. With the record in place, Layton extends his hand like he has so many times before, and helps Flora settle into rudimentary dance rhythm.

"Focus on the down beats now dear," The Professor advises, but try as she might Flora's toes still overlap his one time too many, and had she been younger he would've asked if she was comfortable enough to be lifted atop his shoes and learn from there. But no, he bears with his now bruising toes and helps Flora adjust her posture just so- thankfully resulting in the lessening of these occurrences. There are moments that she is still out of time though, of which Layton is sure she is painfully aware, and thus he corrects the young lady kindly.

"Perhaps we should try a, erm, different approach," he tells her at her worst of moments, "Train your ears to the beat," they begin to move again, Layton easing back into leading with, "and a one two three one two three.."

To which Flora shakily answers, "One.. two three, one two three.." a chorus of footfalls on wooden floors accompanies this odd song, and the more the cant is repeated, the more they fall in sync. Finally, Flora is humming one two three one two three, and asking The Professor if he'd _please oh please_ teach her to twirl.

And twirl she does, whatever grace she had been unable to conjure before rushes to her like a greeting from an old friend, and every dancer in London, Layton included, is jealous. Because Flora Reinhold is getting married in two weeks and low and behold, she is dancing, laughing, singing and glowing.

The waltz is slain, the fox trot is a cake walk, and the tango is a mystery easily cracked throughout the next sessions. Flora's confidence rises as fast as Layton's pride, and although there are stumbles and set backs, a week to the day before wedding bells would sing out, The Professor informs her that, "After today, you'll be more than ready."

Which makes the session the most difficult of all.

There is a knot present every step of the lesson because Flora can only wonder, what if I'm not ready? What if all this work is for nothing, nothing at all? What if she'd ruin it all.

Her tension is clear in her stance, and The Professor smiles in encouragement, "Composure is everything, Flora. You have nearly mastered rhythm, you simply must remember to keep a level head." Except Flora is not entirely sure how to do that just yet, and she quickly informs her tutor of this.

"Ah, well then, try to recall instead who you will be dancing with. You are to be joined in holy matrimony, but I do hope you still can have an air of calm around the man."

And she did, she truthfully did. At first she had remained like a flustered doe around him, but a sea of calm was now a more ever present feeling surrounding her groom. "Composure," she affirms, and with that they are off.

It ends like it began. Tea and biscuits, brisk morning air and Rosa being escorted out, Flora soon to follow.

"Luke is arriving Thursday, as promised to help with the final touches," Layton comments as he collects their dishes.

Flora smiles, "You'll have matching suits, of course."

"Of course," he chuckles.

With one sleeve of her coat sliding onto her arm and the other dangling loosely, Flora is at a loss for how to say goodbye. Their next meeting would be on the day. She decides to let silence take its course, until she is at the door and before Flora knows it the words, "Thank you again, father," are merely a ghost on her tongue.

Now the poor teacups really are lost, and with a yelp Flora corrects herself, dashing to help collect the pieces.

After she leaves, Rosa finds his study door locked. It remains this way for the course of three days, in which Layton opens the door only to receive food and to make his way to the restroom. Finally, Rosa has had enough, worried to death like the house keeper she is, and wheedles an answer out of him.

"Father," he begins, "its the first time she's called me father. And now, now she's going to be.. ah. How foolish of me to not see it sooner."

"See what?"

"All flowers must bloom, Rosa, I was simply oblivious of her already having done so."

* * *

 

She trips on the way to the alter.

Flora's mind is a mess as she scrambles to recover. Layton, whom they had planned from the start to walk her down the aisle, catches her of course, and if you listened hard enough you could hear a soft cheer from one Luke Triton and a sigh of relief from the rest of the church.

Her arm back securely in his, Layton tells Flora softly, "Your composure remains unbruised dear."

This is what gets her through the rest of the long walk.

* * *

 Flora has danced four times with Luke, two with Katia in memory of dear old Anton, twice with one police officer accompanied Clive Dove, once with said police officer Chelmey, nearly danced with Barton, and pulled the entirety of the Black Ravens (whom Luke introduced to her years before) into a large happy circle. Her husband, naturally, has more dances than them all. The way the word sounds- husband, gets her feet moving faster than any swing song could.

Layton, however, lingers without a dance. He has sustained his own composure long enough, clapping after each song and chatting idly until tradition demands that they dance. That's where the lessons started in a way, tradition. It's Clark's suggestion. A father daughter dance. Layton has half the mind to object, but Flora has taken his hand long before he can utter a single word and the floor is suddenly theirs.

She leads this time. And Professor Hershel Layton is the proudest father on earth, watching her twirl with him through the tears in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

**ii- Borrowing**

Crow has never really even daydreamed about owning a proper suit, let alone considering how he could obtain several until Luke handed him the invitation. IT had already been a tiring day for the leader of the Black Ravens, an auction gone array was always a strenuous manner which had to be dealt with quickly and effectively. This however, was an entirely different mountain to climb.

"We've all only met the girl once, and we get a wedding invitation? I think you're pulling the wool over my eyes here, Triton."

Luke had tried too many times at correcting Crow's various nicknames to protest this time, and instead the young man insists, "But Flora loved you all so so much, said you were charming!"

Crow laughs at this, "Guess I still got it."

"Since when were y-- oh nevermind, " Luke glance to the door, then back to the other boy, "You all will come, won't you?"

The letter is deposited within the red folds of Crow's vest, "Depends, we'll try to squeeze it in of course, but y'know. Black market and all, awfully busy." he chuckles, "Might be a bit posh for our lot."

Luke is quick to react, brow furrowing as he shakes his head, "No- no Crow please, it won't be like that, promise."

"Course it wont," Crow sighs, just about read to give up on the whole business. "I'll buy them for you all." Crow stares. "Buy what? Since when did you buy my people things?"

Luke shifts, Crow's words like hot coals under his feet, "Suits, ties, a dress or two, whatever you guys want I'll buy three of!"

"A little much Triton, but I could live with your enthusiasm if you put it towards food." Luke's ears prick up at this, "There'll be all the food in the world there, enough to feed me and you guys for a month!" he leans in, "Plus, with how charming Flora thinks your gang is, she'd probably let you take that much and more."

Crow wasn't quite sure what Flora's husband would think, but his stomach answered for him. He may have been collective kind or prime minister or whatever he pleased of the black market,, but he still went days without food so that the others could eat. Flora was indeed a darling, this the gang (with the exception of Nabby) had agreed upon their introduction to the young woman, but food was more vital. And so, Crow heeds his stomach's pleas, "Not taking any charity, Luke. Me and the kids'll see you there whether we have to steal our suits or not."

"I told you I can--"

He waves him off then, the traces of a smirk dawning on his lips, "Take a joke and leave already, I've got it covered."

Luke smiles, giddy almost, and as soon as he's turned his back Crow is frowning. He just might have to steal them after all.

* * *

 

 "The bats outta the cave, robin's outta its nest, cat's in the cradle with a silver spoon--"

"Terrible code, plus aint that a song or somethin'?"

"Its a great song though! I'd play it at my wedding!"

"Going to your wedding, if it ever happened, would be a total pain, Socket."

"But Nabby, is this really going to be a pain?" Wren pipes up, "Its not a pain if there's food!"

"What was the code for again..?" Ventures Louis, after which Crow decides its about time he disrupted the raven's banter.

"S'code for we need to get our rears in gear guys," most of the gang nods, knowing their leader to usually (not always, mind you) be right, while Nabby mutters this and that and Louis remains confused. "Any ideas on how we get snazzy outfits?" Crow does not allow answers to be given just yet, adding, "or even kinda snazzy, we're really only goin' to eat anyways."

Again it is Wren who replies, "Steal em!"

"Sounds good to me," her brother agrees, and the rest of The Black Ravens seem to like the idea as well.

Crow sighs, "Cant."

"Why not?"

"Luke."

They all groan.

"Borrow the stuff then," Scraps proposes.

"Yeah, 'borrow', heh," Tweeds snickers.

"S'not stealing if we give em back," Marilyn concurs, "Even if that takes a while.."

"Give em back at their funeral," Badger coughs.

And of course, Crow knows that this is exactly how his crew functions, but he's not about to let it happen now.

"Empty your pockets."

The Ravens blink. A single, "What?" is uttered, before Crow cries, "Dont you all trust me?" Marilyn looks to the others, followed by Nabby's harsh gaze, to which the rest obey swiftly, with sparse grumbles. By the end of it all the group is left with a whopping five pounds.

"Guess we need a new plan," Badger murmurs.

"No no, shut your hole, we'll get it all," Crow counters.

"How? Sell the clothes we do have?" Nabby groans, "We wouldn't even have 'nuff to buy just a cufflink."

"Great attitude there, you'll be a blast at the wedding," Socket comments, collecting his meager earnings from the table. Nabbly swipes at him, and instead of standing between them, Wren joins in with her brother. Chaos nearly ensues, but Marilyn yells,"OI!" and all is quiet. Crow's lithe fingers balance atop the bridge of his nose as he struggles to find the solution to this dilemma. Eight pairs of eyes watch his struggle.

Finally, he heaves yet another sigh, "Cant stop you all from 'borrowing', I guess," Crow throws a glance at Badger, "But you still all have to at least sorta try to scrounge up some money so we can look decent for our feast. We've got two weeks gang!" he stands, "Meeting adjourned, Crow out."

"I thought you were going to stop saying that," yells Louis.

Crow raises an arm to wave, repeating simply, "Crow out."

* * *

 

 They arrive like scrapbook children not quite sure how to become adults, tattered clothes peeking out beneath the new ties and the suits of another man's father plaster to their backs. Within the sea of prestige they are nine islands of the England some of these guest could never know, the huddled masses that they remain blind to. And although the food fills their bellies above contentment, it is the dances that bring the most joy. They've had dances before, on nights where there was food to eat and on which the auctions went well they would sneak to the roofs and reclaim their joyful territory. Jigs would be learned on the spot, adrenaline and happiness moving their worn feet to the rhythm of survival. Then it had been a celebration for the success of staying alive, of keeping the market thriving. Now it was for the excitement of seeing Flora's gleeful smile, for the food that awaited them yet.

Their suits were borrowed, the happiness she gave them was stolen, hoarded, hidden for a life time. If only they knew she gave it willingly.

* * *

 

**iii- Convict**

"I'll break out if I have to."

Layton has visited Clive numerous times, and only upon the mention of Flora's wedding has he ever seriously talked of escaping. Witty comments were like a second nature to the young man, but each of these words are crisply pronounced, and his eyes never stray from The Professor's. Clive has been a fairly good example of a model prisoner, living up to his promise of penance before boredom set in. He's joked about breaking out to set things right before, but now, Hershel is concerned.

"Clive, you know she would invite you if she could," honestly The Professor isn't entirely sure of his own statement, Flora has visited the boy a total of three times this year, two the last year and none the year before. The other visits are scattered, half because of the childish squabbles between smudged glass and half because he has not given her two sacred words. Not really that is.

Clive taps the cold metal his arms rest on, "Then help me provide a situation in which one would invite me. Honestly Professor, do keep up." Here he normally would rolls his eyes, but the prisoner's tone remains serious.

Layton sighs lightly, "I do hope you understand how troubling a world this would be if I could simply get you out on every occasion you wanted, my boy."

He is given a growl as a reply, "This isn't some bloody tea party, pull some strings or else I will myself."

The Professor is taken aback, and has to readjust himself before speaking once more, "There's no need for such force, Clive. I had hoped that you would have learned that." Layton cocks his head, studying the man in front of him, "My true question is why you are in fact so intent on attending the event."

Clive glares, more so than before even, and Layton adds quickly, "I must say you never expressed much interest during her visits towards the effort of patching things up." The other now winces.

"Ah yes, that would've gone over swimmingly," Clive's face lights up, his arms extended and voice pitched high, "Good afternoon Flora! Have I told you how utterly sorry I am about the whole posing as and older version of your friend and kidnapping you rigamaroll? Because gosh golly I sure am! Say, can I attend your wedding? Swell." His demeanor reverts back to the dark and dismal side of things, and Clive hisses, "This is my last chance, you should know that."

"Last chance for what?" Layton questions.

"Repentance, if you will. There are thousands, hundreds of thousands of lives I could have destroyed and my penance is this cell," Clive lifts his gaze to the surrounding walls, "But I have yet to apologize to one lone lady."

"It's a simple task, really, saying sorry."

Now Clive really does roll his eyes.

"You really are just making this more difficult. I could've started planning my escape by now, executed it, found a decent suit shop and popped by for tea. Now what does this collectively say about the situation?" He leans forward, "Question my motives later, tell the good inspector what you like, just get me out in time for at least the spot about objections."

Layton arches an eyebrow, "Do you in fact object, Clive?"

"No, at least, maybe when I see the husband I will, but Flora's taste in men is not exactly mine to be critiquing at the time being. No matter what I think she's bound to be dead set on the notion that her fiance is a good man," He pauses, concern edging into his voice, "Is he, in fact, a good man Professor?"

Now a light smile pulls at Layton's lips, "A very good man. He even stomach's Flora's cooking."

Erupting into laughter, Clive comments, "Must be the only man in Britain made for her then."

The Professor lets himself laugh at this also, "Yes well, you nor young Luke could pass the test of courage it would seem."

Clive coughs, shifts slightly in his seat and says, "Courage has nothing to do with not eating her food, its a survival instinct."

"Now now, what am I to tell dear Flora when I return? That you made threats if I didn't get you into the wedding and continued to insult her cooking?"

His eyes narrow, "You wouldn't."

"No, you're right," Layton's glance flicks to the clock above, before sighing, and stating, "I'm afraid our time is up."

"Will you do it though, Professor," now Clive just sounds desperate, transformed yet again into an afraid boy. One begging The Professor for help. And how can Hershel Layton refuse when he has already let down so many.

"I will try, my boy. Be patient, I will return." Clive nods solemnly, and with a tip of his hat, Layton takes his leave.

* * *

 

Its a struggle even with the invitation to get Chelmey to even consider letting Clive attend. Layton is surprised that neither of them ever raise their voice, although the inspector hisses several insults before it is all said and done. But, with some adjustments in Flora's scheduling and some consulting with the groom to be, Chelmey and Clive are added to the guest roster. Chelmey was to be hand cuffed to the young man at all times deemed necessary.

Clive was terrible at concealing his joy upon the news arrival. Handcuffed or not, he had a wedding to attend now. 

* * *

 

The real enigma is how her got her to dance with him, not to mention how Clive weaseled his was out of the handcuffs and into simple nearby observation. It probably had to do with the wine. Ah yes, the good inspector's wine. If he really had the inkling to do so, Clive could've kidnapped Flora all over again. But no, he merely dances. He doesn't need another thing to apologize for, because its already hard enough thinking about doing such a thing anyway.

Yet on the second dance he steals, Clive Dove does the unthinkable. He tells Flora Reinhold that he is sorry. Its a whisper in her ear as the last note of the song drones on, followed by a peck of her cheek and a bow, but a sorry none the less.

Perhaps there was hope of him being a gentleman yet.


End file.
